Take A Leap Of Faith
by hideoutofahomebody
Summary: Tired of waiting for her boyfriend of seven years to propose, Emma Swan decided to take matters in her hands. To do that, she'd have to fly over to Dublin where his boyfriend was for the week. You see, according to an Irish tradition, a woman could propose to her boyfriend on the 29th of February on a leap year. However, fate had other plans for her. CS Leap Year AU. ON HOLD.
1. Chapter One

**A/N: Do you guys remember how I said I'd be writing a CS Leap Year AU? Well, here it is. Hope you like it.**

* * *

This is a story about fate. More specifically, a story about fate working in incomprehensible ways to bring two people together.

If you had told Emma Swan a month ago that she'd be leaving everything behind and getting on a plane to Ireland, she'd have laughed at your face. But that was exactly what she was doing and maybe we need to rewind a bit to get to the beginning of it all.

* * *

Emma Swan was a 27 year old woman living in Boston where she worked as a stager. The job description entailed making apartments or houses look as good as they could before they went up for sale. To achieve that, she brought in all sorts of furniture, varying from couches to flat screen TVs and paintings. That way, the possible bidders didn't only see an empty flat, they saw a _home_. Emma was pretty darn good at what she did, earning a good deal of money.

She also had a great boyfriend who shared the same dreams as her, Neal. He was a cardiologist working in a prestigious hospital. They'd been together for seven years, and she felt… well, _content_. She'd worked hard to get where she was right now, and it had paid off.

She strode quickly through the streets of Boston, rushing to get to their meeting at Davenport. Davenport was a residence with high standards, an old fashioned board and one of the best views in the city. It was where Emma had dreamt of living ever since she was a child and now she and Neal had a shot at it. As she approached the residence with quick steps, she saw that Neal was already there, looking down at his phone.

She was by his side in a few seconds, though it took her clearing her throat twice for Neal to look up from whatever had him so engrossed on his phone.

"Hey babe, didn't see you there," he said giving her a kiss on the cheek. Are you ready?"

"Yeah," she said, shaking her head nervously.

They made their way up the stairs, where they were asked to wait in the lobby until they were called in for their meeting with the board. The board was made up of a bunch of middle-aged and old people, intent on upholding Davenport's tradition and prestigious name.

Once they were called in, they settled in two chairs that were probably antiquated and cost as much as Emma's entire furniture.

"So, Ms. Swan and Mr. Cassidy, is it?" asked one of the board members, a man probably in his fifties, peering over his glasses at them.

"Yes," Neal replied.

"As you may know, apartments in Davenport don't come up very often, and we have our fair share of applicants. So why you?" asked the woman to the right of the man who spoke before, as she skimmed over the documents in her hands –probably the application forms they'd filled in months ago.

"I have lived in Boston my entire life," Emma started explaining excitedly, "and I have dreamt of living here ever since I was a little girl. Luckily, I was able to find someone who shares the same dream." She put one hand over Neal's as she said that, and he in turn gave her a tight-lipped smile. "I can assure you that you can't find two people more in synch with your exceptionally high standards, and dare I say, your taste."

"Thank you," said the woman who has asked the question. The board seemed pleased with her answer, looking at each other and then offering the two of them a smile.

The interview went over really well after that point, and Emma had high hopes that they might get a positive answer.

As she made their way out of the Davenport Residence, Neal turned to her.

"Honey, don't forget that we have dinner reservations at seven tomorrow. I have a surprise for you."

"You know I don't like surprises," Emma said to her boyfriend cautiously.

"You'll like this one. Don't be late."

"When am I ever late?"

"When your parents come into town, that's when."

"I haven't seen them in weeks, I have to meet them," Emma said, feeling like this was the tenth time she had to have this conversation with Neal.

"Yeah, yeah okay. I gotta go. I have a surgery in twenty minutes." His phone chimed at this moment and he moved to pull it out of his pocket.

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," he mumbled as he took out his phone, looking at something, and left in a hurry after giving her a quick peck on the cheek.

* * *

Emma was at her tailor, getting her dress she would be wearing for the evening fitted. Her morning had gone over really well, staging yet another apartment to perfection. She was sure they'd have half a dozen bidders lining up by tomorrow.

She talked her tailor through the fitting, telling him to make the hem an inch shorter, _but no a quarter inch more, _trying to achieve perfection with her dress, just like she did in any area of her life.

Suddenly, her best friend burst through the door with several shopping bags in her hands.

"Oh, Emma I have the best news for you!" she said as she rushed over to her excitedly.

"What did you buy that has you so excited, Rubs?" she asked, looking at her friend amusedly.

"Well, I did buy a great pair of shoes, but that's not what I have to tell you," she said, sending a crimson painted smirk her way. "I just saw Neal as I was coming over here."

"You did?" Emma asked, her interest suddenly peaked. What could her boyfriend be doing outside the hospital at this hour of the day?

"Yes. And he was coming out of DePrisco's." DePrisco's was only the most fashionable jewelry store in all of Boston.

"He was?"

"YES," Ruby shouted with impatience. "He was carrying a red little bag. _The_ red little bag!"

"You think he's gonna propose?" Emma asked excitedly.

"I don't think, Emma_. I know_. There is only one reason why people go into DePrisco's."

Both girls squealed in delight. Emma's afternoon had suddenly taken a turn from good to better.

"I hate you," Ruby declared after a moment. "You are gonna have a better engagement ring than me and I hate you."

* * *

Emma went into the cozy little café where she was supposed to meet her parents at four. They were already sitting at a table by the window, smiling at each other and chatting quietly.

Her mother stood up excitedly when she noticed Emma approaching and enveloped her in a bone-crushing hug.

"Mom, you are crushing me," Emma said after a moment, causing Mary Margaret to chuckle and release her.

"You'll have to excuse your mother," David said after giving her his own brief hug, "It's just that we haven't seen you in weeks."

"It's okay," Emma said, smiling at them and gesturing for them to sit. "I missed you guys."

"We missed you, too," Mary Margaret said. "So, how is everything? How are you and Neal doing?"

And, there was the interrogation she'd been dreading. She hoped it'd come at least after they'd ordered, but apparently no such luck.

Her mother had been pestering her about marriage for the last couple of years, growing impatient to see her daughter settled and happy as years passed. Now, though, it wasn't so bad, since she had good news she could share with them. The waiter came to take their orders at that moment, distracting them from their conversation.

"I think we might get engaged," Emma declared after they'd placed their orders.

David's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, while Mary Margaret clapped her hands together in delight.

"Yeah, he didn't propose or anything, but I think he is going to. Tonight."

"I am so happy for you, sweetheart," Mary Margaret said, reaching for Emma's hand on the table and giving it a squeeze. "Where is Neal, though? We would have loved to see him while we were in town."

"He is packing, Mom," Emma explained, "He has a cardiology convention in Dublin next week."

"Well, it is a good thing he came around to proposing, or you might have had to follow him to Ireland this weekend and pull a Grandma Ruth. It is leap year, you know," David joked with her daughter.

"Dad, please don't tell that story again," Emma mumbled exasperatedly.

"Why, it is a great story! Your grandmother proposing to your grandfather on the 29th of February in Ireland? Why would you not want to hear that story?"

"It's a family myth, that's why. Besides, I am not going to have to pull a Grandma Ruth," she said mimicking her father's words from a moment ago. "Neal's proposing."

"We are finally going to get some grandkids!" Mary Margaret declared happily and Emma choked on her sip of hot chocolate.

* * *

Emma was sat at a table with Neal at one of the fanciest restaurants in Boston, conversing politely. Inside, she was more than a little bit excited about the proposal she knew was coming.

"You know, you always have it figured out for us," Neal said. "Even with my crazy schedule and everything… You know I appreciate it, right?"

Emma nodded her head, too excited to actually get any words out.

"So," Neal said, reaching into her jacket's pocket and taking out a little box, "So, this is for you."

He placed it in front of her on the table, and Emma pondered why he hadn't gone down on one knee just like it was customary to do when proposing.

After giving him a long look, she reached for the little velvet box anyways, and opened it.

What she saw in there was…

Earrings.

A pair of diamond earrings.

_Not a ring._

"They're... earrings," she stated flatly.

"Yeah," Neal said smiling at her, apparently oblivious to her discomfort. Just then, his phone started ringing. He answered it after offering Emma an apologetic smile.

"Hey, Dr. Sloane," he said. "Oh looks like you're gonna have to go in from the spine. Send me a photo and I'll take a look, okay?" With that, he hung up, apologizing to Emma.

"Why don't you try them on?" he said, gesturing towards the earrings.

"Sorry, sure," Emma said, giving him a tight-lipped smile. She took off her own earrings and replaced them with the ones Neal had got for her.

When she looked up, he was busy looking at his phone.

"Oh, yikes," he said. "You wouldn't want to see the picture Dr. Sloane just sent me."

"I wouldn't," Emma confirmed, trying very hard not to let out her frustration with Neal in the form of snappy answers.

"Ugh," he said, groaning in exasperation when his phone chimed once more with another incoming text from Dr. Sloane. "This isn't gonna work. I'll have to go in."

Emma nodded her head in acknowledgement, because at this point words were evading her.

"I'll just pick up my suitcase on the way to the hospital and go straight to the airport from there. Forgive me?"

"Of course," Emma answered, her voice coming out as a whisper, even though she wasn't sure if she would.

"I am so sorry," he said to her as he got up to leave, "I love you."

He gave her a peck on the lips and she answered with her own "Love you, too." before he dashed out of the restaurant and left her alone at the table. She heaved a deep sigh, watched after Neal until he disappeared out of sight and then motioned to one of the waiters for the check, ready to go home and spend an hour or two in the bathtub to cleanse herself from the disappointment she felt.

* * *

After soaking in the bathtub for a good hour and a half and drinking half a bottle of wine, Emma got comfortable in bed and started thinking about the story her father had brought up today.

_"__Well, it is a good thing he came around to proposing, or you might have had to follow him to Ireland this weekend and pull a Grandma Ruth. It is leap year, you know."_

She could practically hear his father saying those words, and whether it was the half a bottle of wine she'd drunk or the frustration she felt about the earrings that were now sitting on her bedside table, but the idea was starting to grow on her.

She pushed the comforter off her body and got out of bed. Opening her laptop, she pulled out the search engine and typed in Leap Year Proposals, clicking on the first article that came up.

_Leap year proposals are an old folklore tradition that dates back to the 5__th__ century. In a leap year, a woman can propose to a man on February 29__th__ –one day every four years._

The article also included a video of a woman getting down on one knee in the middle of the street to propose to her boyfriend.

"That's ridiculous," Emma said out loud. _I am gonna do it._

Having made up her mind, she proceeded to pack a suitcase for a couple of days, all the while contemplating how she could surprise Neal and when she could get the rings.

Before she knew it, she was sitting in a plane to Dublin with an old man sitting next to her.

"Why are you going to Dublin?" the old man asked her, apparently wanting to pass some of the long flight by holding conversation with the blonde woman next to her.

"I am going to propose to my boyfriend," Emma said excitedly.

"Are you know?" the old man asked disbelievingly. Emma chose to ignore the way the man was looking at her as if she'd suddenly grown a second head.

"Yes, he is already in Dublin for a convention. I am going to surprise him," she explained.

"Good for you," the old man said to her before pulling out a newspaper from his handbag to read, having clearly lost interest in conversing with Emma any further.

This did not faze Emma in the slightest, though. She just pulled the magazine from the pocket of the seat in front of her and started looking through it. Then suddenly, the plane started to shake as if they were going through turbulence.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are currently passing through a spot of bad weather. Do not worry, it is only a little bit of turbulence."

Emma held onto the armrests on both sides of her seat to steady herself as she willed the turbulence to pass. But it just got worse and a moment later the oxygen masks dropped from above their heads and the pilot spoke once again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain again. I may have underestimated the storm a little bit. I am afraid we are being diverted to Cardiff, Wales, as Dublin airport has been shut down. Once landed, ground staff will be happy to book you onto connecting flights to get you to your final destination."

"Cardiff?" Emma mumbled to herself under her breath. _That was not part of the plan._

* * *

**A/N: Just like my previous story, the cover for this story was made by my dearest friend Sevval.**

**No Killian in this chapter, I know, but that's gonna change in the next one.**

**Leave a review to let me know if you liked this chapter.**

**Hope to see ya again.**


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: Thank you so much for showing interest to the first chapter of the story. Here's the second. Hope you like it.**

**In case it wasn't clear, this story is based very heavily on the plot of the movie Leap Year and aside from little changes to fit the OUAT 'verse, the entire plot belongs to whoever came up with Leap Year.**

* * *

It had been almost an hour since they'd landed in Cardiff Airport, and all there was inside the airport was chaos. While some people resignedly set their baggage down and curled in one of the chairs in the waiting room to get some sleep, others, including Emma, were running around asking anyone who looked like they could be in charge for connecting flights.

Meanwhile, the same announcement was on repeat in the loudspeakers:

_"__Cardiff Airport regrets to announce that due to inclement weather all flights today are cancelled." _

Emma pushed through a crowd of people to get to the ticket counter, where the woman behind it was patiently trying to explain a man that they couldn't possibly book him a flight before tomorrow, seeing there _were_ no flights before tomorrow.

Emma finally reached the counter, where another woman looked at her with tired and expectant eyes and said:

"Good evening. How can I help you?"

"Good evening," Emma said, smiling briefly at the woman. "I need to book a flight to Dublin."

"The first available flight is tomorrow morning," the woman explained to Emma with a patient smile that did not reach her tired eyes, "I can book you a ticket for it."

"No, that's not gonna work for me," Emma said and taking a deep breath she continued, "Look, I am going to Dublin to propose to my boyfriend on Leap Day. And I need to get some shopping in, book a restaurant and plan everything. So, between us girls, I think you can see why I need to be there today."

The woman nodded at Emma heartily, making her think for a moment that a little sweet talking was indeed going to be the solution to her problem of epic proportions.

"Hailey," she said after a moment, turning to the brunette working next to her. "Will you ring Dublin International Airport and get them to open a runway especially for madam?"

"Right away," the other woman, Hailey, said and they both looked back at her with sickeningly sweet smiles on their faces. Of course, right, they were making fun of her.

She backed away from the counter, weighing her options as she did so. She didn't have to _fly_ to Dublin. But what else was there?

Her eyes caught sight of a brochure on a stand by the wall. _Ferries_. Eh, why not?

She found a cab and asked the driver to take her to the ferry station. There was a raging storm outside, rain pouring down as if the sky had opened up and the rational part of her knew that no ferries would be sailing in this weather. However, she'd left her rational side behind, resting at her bedside table right next the pair of earrings Neal had bought.

As she entered the ferry station with her four inch heels clicking across the floor, a similar announcement to the one she'd heard at the airport was playing on repeat, saying all commercial passenger ferries to Ireland had been cancelled because of the storm.

She still made her way to the ticket counter to try her luck, and was promptly told off by a particularly grumpy ticket agent.

"Fine," she muttered under her breath, "I'll find my own boat."

Finding a boat willing to take her to Cork when offered a good deal of money wasn't a problem. What _was_ a problem, however, were the storm and the big waves it was causing. The little fishermen's boat was swaying dangerously with every wave that hit it.

"We are going to have to go into Dingle," the captain shouted over the sound of the storm.

"But I paid for Cork," Emma tried to argue, but at that moment a particularly big wave hit the side of the boat and she backpedaled.

"Fine, Dingle will do."

As they approached the shoreline of what the captain claimed was Dingle, the storm had calmed down a bit, so the captain dropped her off and immediately turned the ship back around.

She stood at the shore for a moment and stared after the boat with the heels of her shoes sinking in the sand, drenched to her bones because of the rain and shivering. Wrapping her arms around herself, she turned to look around for somewhere she could ask for directions or better –find someone who would be willing to help her get to Dublin.

In the distance, she could see Dingle, a quaint little town with fifty buildings at most. She made her way in the general direction of it, dragging her suitcase behind her. As she got closer, she could make out a two story building with the sign _Caragh's Bar_ –the most alive-looking place in her line of sight.

She decided that she'd try her luck there and made her way towards it with quick strides. Well, as quick as her now pretty much ruined high heel shoes would let her.

Inside the bar was dimly lit and looked like it could use a little bit (a lot) of renovating. There were only a few patrons, all men who seem to be in their early thirties, drinking by the counter and at the booths by the window.

Emma reluctantly made her way inside, looking around for someone who might help her get to Dublin. One of the men at the counter told an exceptionally terrible joke and all the other, slightly drunk, men laughed along with him. The man behind the counter, who was, due to his job description, sober, shook his head at them amusedly.

"Hello," Emma called out when she neared the middle of the pub, and all the laughing men, plus the man behind the counter, stopped to look at her.

The bartender was a man in his early thirties, who had a rag thrown over his shoulder. From what she could see, he was the most attractive man Emma had seen since she'd set foot on Ireland.

"Are you open?" Emma asked, shifting from one foot to the other, starting to feel uncomfortable under the scrutinizing looks of a pub full of men.

"Australian," said the brown haired guy by the counter, turning to his friend.

"South African," his friend argued.

"Actually," she said, "she's American. Emma, from Boston."

When both guys nodded at her in salute, she continued, "I want to get to Dublin. Could either of you give me directions to the nearest bus station?"

"Seven," said the blonde guy from before abruptly.

"Excuse me?" Emma asked, perplexed.

"Seven," he repeated. "That's how old I was when the last bus left Dingle."

"No," his friend with the funny eyebrows argued, "The train stopped when we were seven. The bus kept working until we were ten."

"I am telling you, it stopped when we were seven." The two kept bickering, so Emma tuned them out to find another solution to her problem.

She stepped closer to the counter and addressed the bartender, whose interest wasn't focused on her, instead on the crossword puzzle in front of him, chewing on the pen in his hand as he scanned it.

"Is there a taxi service, maybe?" she asked hopefully.

Without saying a word, the dark haired man made his way to the backroom and returned with a card in his hand. He passed it to Emma and turned back to his crossword with an amused look on his face.

"Thank you," Emma said, going through her purse to get her iPhone out.

But _of course_ the battery was dead, because why wouldn't it be?

She was muttering to herself about how nothing was going her way today and _how the hell was she going to get to Dublin now_, when another man cleared his throat and pointed to the wall across from the counter, more specifically, to the payphone on the wall.

"Oh," she breathed out, smiling gratefully at the man. "Thank you."

She walked towards the payphone, the clicks of her high heel shoes the only sound in the pub as all of the men followed her every movement in silence. It wasn't that they were ogling her; they were merely curious to know more about this stranger –something they didn't see too often in the small town that was Dingle.

Emma picked up the phone and dialed the number on the business card she'd got from the bartender quickly. It was picked up after the third ring.

"Hello?" she said reluctantly.

"Yes?"

"I need a taxi to Dublin," Emma said excitedly, feeling like she'd finally found the solution to her problem.

Yeah, where are you calling from?" replied the man, a deep voice laced with a particularly thick Irish accent.

"An odd little bar. It's called the Carack… or is it Caragh? I don't know. Whatever." She chuckled nervously.

"We don't drive American blondies."

"You don't drive- Wait, how do you know-"

She turned around to face the counter, where the dark haired bartender was coming out of the backroom, holding the phone in his hand and smirking at her. The men in the pub all started snickering.

"Of course, you are the taxi driver," Emma said, still clutching the phone in her hand. "Well, I need you…" She put the phone down when she realized why the bartender was looking at her with an even bigger smirk than before. "I need you to drive me to Dublin."

"No can do," replied the bartender, leaning his elbows on the counter and shaking his head.

"Not even for 500 euros?" Emma asked, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Let me tell you something about Dublin, Emma from Boston," the bartender said patronizingly, "Dublin is a city of backstabbing snakes, chancers and cheats. You should steer clear."

"Well, I _need_ to get to Dublin, and I need to get there before the weekend," Emma said to the bartender. Then, tearing her gaze away from him, she addressed the other men in the bar. "So, does any one of you fine gentlemen want to take me to Dublin for 500 euros?"

Upon her words, a funny looking man in a red beanie stood up, drunkenly shouting "I am your man, missus," before falling face-first to the floor. Emma realized then that her odds of getting to Dublin tonight weren't looking very good.

"Alright then, can you at least tell me where the closest hotel is? Or bed and breakfast?"

When she once again faced the smug look on the bartenders face, she realized that _of course_, this place was also the hotel.

"I want a room for tonight," she said, walking towards the counter for the umpteenth time that evening, "I'm hoping you can at least offer that."

"Yes ma'am," the bartender bowed his head mockingly, then quickly retrieving a key from the backroom, motioned for her to follow him up the stairs that were situated on a secluded corner of the pub.

He led her down a corridor with a ceiling so low that he had to crouch a little to refrain from bumping his head.

"Bathroom's that way," he motioned to a door they passed by, "You need to flush twice. I mean it, twice."

"Isn't this just like the Four Seasons," Emma muttered sardonically under her breath.

He shook his head before opening the door at the end of the corridor and revealing a room the size of Emma's bathroom back home. There was a bed by the window, a bedside table next to it, and a wardrobe. Emma didn't know how that was possible, but even the curtains looked dusty. She sat on the bed, setting down her suitcase by the foot of it.

"I noticed there was a kitchen downstairs," Emma said, looking up at him. "Is there a menu I could look at?"

"The kitchen's…"

"Closed," Emma said at the same time as he did. "Of course."

She continued to look up at him through her lashes as she said, "But given the famous Irish hospitality…"

"Fine, I'll make you a sandwich," the man said exasperatedly. He left the room, muttering something under his breath about _bloody Americans. _

The first thing Emma did when the grumpy Irish man closed the door after himself was to peel her still wet trenchcoat off. She looked around the small room for a plug with the intention of charging her phone and found one on the wall behind the bed.

Crawling on all fours on the bed, she reached the plug. As soon as she plugged in her iPhone charger, there was a crashing sound, angry sparks flying off where her charger was plugged, and then the lights went off.

She opened the curtains, hoping the street lights would illuminate the pitch black room a little, but the only light that found its way inside was that of the moon; the rest of the town was just as in darkness as the pub/taxi service center/hotel.

She decided to look for another source of light inside the room and upon going through the wardrobe across from the bed, she found a flashlight. Under this new found light, she noticed a framed picture in the wardrobe.

There were three people in the picture, one of which she recognized to be the bartender, albeit perhaps a couple years younger. There was another man with light brown hair and a beautiful woman, all three of them posing in front of the Caragh and smiling at the camera.

As she was examining the photo just that bit more closely, the door flew open and the bartender rushed in, carrying a plate and looking thoroughly annoyed. When he saw what she was holding in her hands, he set the plate angrily on the nightstand and snatched the picture away, saying it was personal and certainly none of her business.

"What the hell did you do?" he asked accusingly, gesturing to the lights.

"Plugged something in," Emma said defiantly, jutting her chin out. "You fried my iPhone."

"You fried the entire town, you idiot!" he said exasperatedly. He stormed out just like he'd stormed in, slamming the door so hard something rattled inside the wardrobe.

"Asshole," Emma muttered after him.

**/**

In the morning, Emma decided to call Neal and let him know she was in Dublin, seeing her plan of surprising him wasn't going according to plan anyway.

"Hey Neal," she said, using the phone in the pub downstairs. "I am in Ireland. Yeah, I was going to surprise you but it turned into sort of a disaster. Uh, no, I am in Dingle now. Will be there today. Love you, too."

She hung up, moving to make her way upstairs and change out of her pajamas, but upon hearing noises outside, she moved towards the window to try and see what could be happening so early in the morning.

Outside, the bartender/owner from the night before was talking to a middle-aged man with shoulder-length hair. There was a van parked outside the Caragh and three other men watching the conversation between the two men.

"Your payment was due today, Mr. Jones," said the man, "If you don't have the money, I'll have to take away the kitchen."

"I am down to the last of the bloody interest, Gold," Mr. Jones said exasperatedly. (And what _was_ his first name?) You can't take away the bloody kitchen, it'll put me out of business."

"You've had plenty of time to pay your debt," the other man, Gold apparently, said.

"Give me another month," something-something Jones said.

"I'll give you a week," Gold relented.

"Fine, a week," Jones replied, holding out his hand for Gold to shake.

Upon the agreement, Gold and his men made their way back to their van and Emma scurried up the stairs into her room.

Finally deciding to change out of her pajamas, Emma took them off, and crouching down by her suitcase in her underwear, started to look for a change of clothes. Suddenly, the door flew open and the bartender stepped inside.

"Jones!" Emma shouted, grabbing her pajamas and trying to cover herself with them, albeit quite unsuccessfully.

"Killian will do, darling," the man before her said, not fazed in the slightest by Emma's state of undress.

"Will you get out?" Emma shouted.

"I will drive you to Dublin," Killian said, ignoring her outcry.

"Oh, no, there is no need. You made it very cleared that you are no fan of Dublin," Emma said, arching an eyebrow at him and forgetting for a moment that she was in her underwear, "I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"It won't be an inconvenience at all," Killian said with an overly cheerful expression.

"Fine, you can drive me," Emma said, "Now will you get out?"

Grinning at her one last time, he did as she asked and closed the door after himself.

Heaving an annoyed sigh, Emma set down her pajamas and crouched down by her suitcase once again. She picked her outfit, a flannel shirt and jeans –simple enough. She put on the shirt and just as she was doing the first button, the door flew open once more.

"Naked here!" Emma yelled at him.

"By the way," he said, once again ignoring Emma's outcry, "It's a 100 euro for the room and that includes the power unit you fried last night."

"Fine, now get the hell out!" she shouted, grabbing the pillow on the bed and throwing it in his direction just as he closed the door. The pillow hit the closed door instead and fell to the floor.

Well, now that she had a ride to Dublin, she was in the clear, wasn't she? After all, what else could possibly go wrong?

* * *

**A/N: So, whatcha think?**

**Just a heads up: Up until this point, things happened almost exactly how they happened in the movie. That's about to change.**

**Reviews make me happy, so leave me one of those, please?**

**Thanks to RapidWheelfrog, naiariddle, Shini4, somerholish, thorntonp8721, marizactz and Guest for their reviews on the previous chapter. I appreciate every single one of them.**

**Hope to see ya again.**


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